


Friction

by justalittlegreen



Series: Sunshine and Filth [8]
Category: MASH (1970), MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Rutting, hunnihawk, smut with feels, supply shed, the improbable calculus of probability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: Rubbing things both wrong and right ways. First chapter's not explicit, second one is.





	1. Chapter 1

The second time in the supply tent lasts all of four minutes, barely enough time to find each others' mouths in the dark. Not even Supply is out earshot of the loudspeaker.

_Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. Both shifts - repeat - both shifts report to the OR, on the double!_

By unspoken agreement, BJ leaves first, pulling reluctantly away toward the door. Hawkeye doesn't let go for a moment, leaning in to breathe softly into the taller man's ear -  _find me. after. I'm not done with you_ \- and even though BJ's mind is halfway to the OR, the words and the feeling of Hawk's warm breath on his skin send a flare through him. His hips buck - just a little - at the thought of _later_. He rushes out into the gray afternoon, half-expecting to see his blush reach all the way to his wrists.

Hawkeye gives himself one minute in the lingering night before turning the light on in case anyone walks in and needs a plausible reason for him to be there. He's aching, has been for weeks. On the surface, nothing's changed - they use Frank's reactions to their antics as a barometer, keeping him at the same levels of pique and indignation to which he's become accustomed. They've always been good in surgery together, uncommonly so, and the ensuing weeks have only hightened their awareness of one another. Hawkeye thinks he could imitate BJ's careful, quietly assured ways of cutting in his sleep - and BJ, to his surprise, has gotten bolder in the OR. Not that he's ever reckless, only more willing to reach beyond his training into the hazy horizion where Hawkeye practices - the line between the science and the art of medicine.

By the grace of someone - probably Radar - they get switched to the second shift, which means they and Frank are almost never in The Swamp at the same time. The minutae of their lives are much the same - chess games and martinis, fitful sleep and quips - but small intentional,  _plausible_ changes creep in. Their knees always - always - touch under the chess board. BJ traces a finger along the back of Hawk's hand when he hands him a martini. BJ still counts in his head how many times a day he is plausibly allowed to throw an arm around his best friend's shoulders, doing the improbable calculus of plausibility. If it's after a long OR shift, he gets an extra second. If Hawk is stumbling drunk, he can justify holding him the entire walk back from Rosie's.

It's convenient that Hawk has always lived with a certain degree of flamboyance, because they're hiding easily in its shadow. The same grace that keeps Klinger from getting beaten to a regular pulp (as he most certainly would Stateside) allows their friendship and its casual intimacy to pass without comment.

They never, ever, take showers together. Too much risk. Given what he knows - what he feels - BJ can't imagine keeping any semblance of composure around a wet, naked Hawkeye, and isn't entirely sure this - whatever this is - lives in daylight yet. 

So they sit close at breakfast. Walk arm in arm from the O.C. back to the Swamp. They finish each others' sentences and set each other up for punchlines and sometimes - when nightfall offers protection from at least the eyes of the rest of camp - they sit next to each other on Hawkeye's cot, shoulder to ankle, heads resting on each other and letting their breath fall into sync.

In surgery, Hawkeye's words ring in BJ's head over and over, filtering through the mess of clanking instruments and the occasional squelch or swear. He falls into their rhythm -  _suction, clamp, lap pad (I'm not done with you) more suction (find me) good, retract that just another inch (after. after. after. after.)_

 

It's not the worst night they've had in the O.R. - they didn't lose any, and the sun isn't even up by the time they leave, but nine hours on his feet isn't nothing, and BJ says  _I need a shower before I can go anywhere._

_Darling,_ Hawk replies,  _did I ever tell you you're beautiful when you're post-op?_

**

The birds are singing by the time BJ slips back to Supply. He's embarrassed that it took him so long to figure out what to wear. So far, they've always been in fatigues, but it would be more plausible for him to be walking around camp in his bathrobe, and what if that sends the wrong message? What message would that even be? He takes the robe off, puts it on, and takes it off and finally swears to himself that he will never again tease Peggy for taking too long to get ready for a date --

Peggy.

Peg.

Best girl, loving wife, whose letters still fill him with all the warmth of home. Peg, who wrote  _I'm so glad you have friends who can take care of you._ Peg, who made sure he entered Korea with a love bite the size of Germany to remember her by. Peggy Jane, who, in another time and place, would match Hawkeye quip for quip - he knows.  _I have a type,_ he thinks, with grim amusement. 

Even as his mind resists, his slipper-clad feet drag him back to the door with the hanger. He stands here, hands in his robe pockets, wondering how to knock without seeming obvious when the door cracks open and Hawk's unmistakable hand slips out to grab BJ's. With one more cursory glance to each direction to make sure he hasn't been followed, BJ lets Hawk pull him inside.


	2. glass cello

Hawkeye reminds himself to go slower than he wants to. That this is about BJ, and he's still not completely certain that BJ's anticipating this the way he is. It's been hard to tell over the last few weeks, through the facade of normalcy, where his California boy's head is at. Certainly, he hasn't stopped writing home. Hawk hasn't stopped chasing nurses, either, but there's a lot less follow-through in his game than there used to be. He's spending every night at home in The Swamp, where he waits for dark to cover them enough to sit by BJ's side and relax.

Hawkeye Pierce knows when he's in deep.

So he's careful. More careful than he's ever been. He restrains every (frequent) impulse to throw BJ against the nearest solid surface and kiss him until his head spins. He doesn't go near the shower tent when he sees BJ heading there. He calculates how many flirty jokes he throws in BJ's direction - he's permitted himself one per meal, and two during surgery - doing the improbable calculus of plausibility. 

He does admit to one thing: he acts drunker than he is because it means BJ holds him all the way home, and Hawkeye isn't above a  _little_ bit of manipulation to get what he so desperately craves.

And when BJ didn't come to the Supply tent for a full half hour after they got out of the O.R., Hawkeye thought he might have taken it too far. Might've pushed him too hard. Told one too many jokes, touched him a few too many times - but there he is. Hawkeye knows those footsteps like the backs of his eyelids.

_He came._

 

That knowlege is all the courage Hawk needs. He reaches out blindly, and BJ  _takes his hand and lets himself be pulled inside_ and within seconds the door is locked, and the broom handle secured underneath it, and then Hawkeye doesn't want to do anything else with his hands but touch BJ until the sun comes up.

He treads the ground they've already covered, reaching around - on top of the robe, there will be no disrobing yet - and pulls on the back of BJ's neck until their lips find one another and they are kissing wildly, stumbling, searching for something more solid than each others' unreliable bodies. BJ's mouth is hot, yielding, and he kisses Hawk with a ferocity that Hawkeye's never seen from him, dipping his tongue to find Hawkeye's and in the dark, Hawkeye swears he sees sparks. His hips buck in spite of his promises to go slowly, and he clutches and clings to BJ, letting him  _feel_ how much Hawkeye wants him. Needs him.

The mattress is all the way on the floor, which seems like a very long time to stop kissing, but Hawk breaks away and whispers  _the bed's right here._

_come with me, Beej?_

and for a long moment, there is no answer, only BJ panting, still holding Hawkeye, and Hawkeye can feel him tense with fear and opens his mouth to start backpedaling  _\- no don't worry, we can do another four hours on our feet, it's fine -_ when BJ says hoarsely

_show me._

Hawkeye melts. 

He takes BJ's forearm, and grabs the lapels of his robe with the other hand, guiding them down to their knees on the mattress. Here, they're almost the same height - BJ is all legs - and Hawk takes full advantage of it, stroking the back of his head reassuringly, rubbing his bristly cheek against BJ's. 

_you all right?_

BJ nods. And then, as Hawkeye does his best not to move a muscle, BJ slips the red terrycloth off Hawk's shoulders and kisses him at the edge of his collar. Hawkeye can't stop the deep, gutteral moan, or the flutter in his stomach. BJ grins against his skin and slowly runs his hands down Hawkeye's arms and back. Hawk can't help it. He leans back and pulls BJ down with him, flopping onto the mattress with BJ half on top of him, and -

BJ thought kissing Hawkeye and embracing him on his feet was enough to make him dizzy, but feeling his body pressed solidy against Hawk's frame is downright heartstopping. He gasps, bucking involuntarily as Hawk's thigh finds its way between his, and buries his face into Hawk's neck and growls deep in his throat. He knows from the way Hawkeye is clutching him that he feels just as good, and BJ maneuvers himself until his own thigh is pressed against the bulge in Hawkeye's pants and is rewarded when Hawk sinks his teeth into his shoulder, tshirt and all, and squirms against him with an urgency that BJ finds irresistable.

And then Hawk's hands are sliding down his back, lower and lower, until he cups BJ's ass and pulls him even tighter against his thigh and BJ is unabashedly thrusting against that taut, ropy muscle as Hawk whispers  _please. please, Beej, please -_ and the sound of Hawkeye Pierce  _begging_ sends BJ right over the edge, all buck and growl and need, hips driving again and again and again, grunting with every thrust. It lasts forever, and Hawkeye rides through it with him, matching every thrust and squeezing out a small  _yessss_ as BJ slows to a gasping stop. 

And even though his mind is a racing kaleidoscope, spinning color and light and very few words, BJ is suddenly a little embarrassed. He feels like a schoolboy again, all gangle and no self-control, and he rolls off Hawkeye and curls up on his side with the intent to stay there until his legs work and he can run far, far away, but Hawkeye is scrambling over his turned back and lying next to him, facing him, and taking his head in his hand and kissing him deep and sweet, and BJ feels a little less foolish. 

 _I don't know what you think you have to be afraid of,_ Hawkeye begins,  _but I'm still me, Beej. I haven't gone anywhere just because I've decided you're the most beautiful thing on two legs in this entire rat-infested paradise._  

 _I haven't -_ BJ doesn't quite know how to explain  - _I'm usually not_ - 

 _faster than a firecracker on the night of July 4th?_ says Hawkeye, and BJ can hear the tease in his voice, but it's gentle and loving and even reassuring.  _Don't worry. It took me a lot of practice before I was -_ he stops, not having intended to share the breadth of his experience with BJ before they really started talking about this. But BJ knows his friend, and hears the note of anxiety in his unintentional confession.

 _able to keep yourself together?_ he finishes for him. Hawk sighs, and then chuckles to himself. 

 _Yeah,_ he admits, running a hand down BJ's arm,  _but I haven't felt like this since I was a teenager. You -_

_what?_

_you unravel me, Beej._

_yeah. me too._

And as the palest light of predawn casts a gray glow over the 4077, the two Swampmates head home, arm in arm, with only the vaguest pretense at drunkenness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Would somebody be willing to advise me on proper tagging? I think I'm really bad at it. How would you tag this story?


End file.
